


Dethfisted

by samansucks



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-13
Updated: 2012-09-13
Packaged: 2017-11-14 04:09:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samansucks/pseuds/samansucks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nathan has an awesome merch idea followed by a few terrible ones, Charles tries to encourage his interest in the business end of Dethklok, a lot of real businessy-type meetings take place, and no actual fisting happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dethfisted

(I had ASSLOADS of help from number2813 over on lj. Like seriously, some lines are just wholesale hers.)

 

An anguished shout echoed through the halls of Mordhaus. 

"What's going on in here? _Schome_ of us are trying to get our beauty sleep." Murderface stomped into the kitchen, confederate flag-print eye mask pushed up onto his forehead and arms crossed over his chest. Skwisgaar entered behind him, looking as though he'd just gotten to sleep moments before, followed by Pickles, who looked as awake as if he hadn't been asleep at all. To be fair, it was only 3 am; fairly early into the night by any standards. 

"I was hungry, but no one answered when I yelled so I went and got some pickles from the fridge. And I got my hand stuck in this stupid jar of fucking pickles!" Nathan waved his trapped hand around like it was stuck in a beehive. "What dildo would make the opening so small? How are you supposed to get to the pickles?!"

"You knows I oftens finds myself wonderings that? My hands ams naturally slenders, but even they often haves this trouble." 

"I feel the pickle juice soaking into my skin, I'm gonna smell like pickles forever if I don't get this off my hand!" 

"Guys, what's going on in here? You should be sleeping, you've got a long day of recording tomorrow." Charles appeared in the doorway, as fully dressed as he'd been at their band meeting that afternoon.

"Nathan got his hand schtuck in a jar of pickles!"

"Ah. Hand stuck in a jar of pickles. That would be a perfectly reasonable explanation for all the yelling at 3 am, I suppose."

"Listen, can we stahp talking about Nathan's hand in a jar of pickles? It sounds like yew're talking about him fisting me or somethin." 

"Huh, yeah. It kinda does. But if you think about it, isn't fisting kind of brutal?"

"Nots reallys, I don'ts really thinks so. It don'ts dos nothing for my gettings off, if you knows what I means." Skwisgaar sighed and sank into a chair to watch as a Klokateer attempted to pry the jar off of Nathan's hand without interrupting his gesticulating. 

"Seriously, though. Think about it. It's like you're _punching inside of someone_ and having sex with them _at the same time_. Try to tell me that isn't brutal. See? You can't. Because it's totally fucking the most brutal thing EVER." Nathan looked thoughtful. "HEY! Hey, guys! Listen, hey, you guys! This is giving me an awesome idea for our tour!" His arm swung back to better indicate that they should be paying attention to him, and the glass jar knocked the Klokateer who had been trying to free Nathan on the head. He crumpled to the ground. Nathan seemed to notice him for the first time. "Uh, whoops."

"I hope this doesn't involve any, ah, actual fisting taking place on the stage, our sponsors do have their limits. You can have all the violence you want, but any sexual shenanigans are over the line." Charles pushed a button hidden discretely on the underside of the table, and a new Klokateer replaced the unconscious one within moments.

Nathan wasn't _stupid_. Their shows aired on live pay-per-view television for all ages, of _course_ anything sexual would be over the line. He'd learned that lesson when he'd wanted to make the axe-wielding homicidal maniac lady who killed a whole viking village without remorse in their Death Metal Extravapalooza performance a naked axe-wielding homicidal maniac lady who killed a whole viking village without remorse. That shit just did not fly on stage. 

"No no, that's not what I meant. You know how we were talking about merchandise at the meeting earlier? What if we, like, found a way to make the shapes of our fist, but...not actually our fists. Just like, copy the shapes of our fists, but not like cutting them off, they're not really our fists..."

"We gets its, copies our fists."

"But, yeah, we can produce fuckloads of them and sell them at the concert! And then fans will put our fists in their you-know-whats any time they want! But it won't really be our fists, because our fans are a bunch of ugly losers, but they'll totally feel like it's our fists inside of them, punching them sexually! And they'll sell out in no time because all of our lady fans will want them!"

"And we can put schpikes on them! That'll show them fans, trying to put our fists inshide of them like they deserve it." Murderface had forgotten his annoyance about being awoken, and his face was alight at the thought of causing their fans pain. 

"Nathan, excellent thinking. I'll contact merchandising first thing in the morning. William, I can't even begin to explain how terrible an idea that is. The lawsuits alone..." A crease appeared between Charles's brow, as though he were carefully repressing a full-body shudder.

"That'sch not fair, no one listens to my ideas! If I want schpikes on my fist I should be able to have them!"

"Why don'ts we lets him haves them on his own, hey? It can be a converstations pieces. Not that anyones will buys it anyways, yeah?" Skwisgaar's voice conveyed all the amusement he was capable of on one hour of sleep. 

"Bullshit, I bet there are thousands of fans who would pay good money to have my fisht inshide of them! Thousands!"

Charles rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed.

"Okay, fine. William, yours may have rubber spikes on it. Nathan, yours will need to come with a note warning against rectal use in order to avoid any messy lawsuits and unnecessary maiming of consumers. Ah, fans. Skwisgaar, yours--"

"I don'ts want to be parts of this projects." He paused for emphasis. "I likes to haves the sex with my fans the old-fashions way. They don'ts needs my fake fists when they cans be having my real dick."

"Are you sure about that, Skwisgaar? Yours will be a contestant for top-seller if you allow it to be produced, you know. Your merchandise always sells out very quickly. Fans will be devastated if there is no Skwisgaar Skwigelf version of this product for no apparent reason."

"...I stills don't think it ams a very good ideas."

"Hey, guys. What's goings ons? What are you talking abouts?" Toki appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, already looking poised to throw a fit if it turned out he was being left out of something awesome again.

"Fisting!" Pickles said with obvious relish.

"Wowee!" He paused. "What's fistings?" 

Pickles told him.

"Oh! Can mines be in the shapes of a rabbit? I feels the ladies would really appreciates it." 

" _No_ , the whole fucking point is that it's shaped like your fist."

"Now that he mentions it, do yew think I could get mine with a drum stick? Kinda like an added bonus for my fans."

"Wow, Pickles, that sounds pretty...brutal. Like....wow, just think about that for a minute."

"Heh. I know, right?" Pickles snickered. The Klokateer slipped the jar of pickles off of Nathan's hand and placed it gently on the counter. He disappeared from the room, and Nathan grabbed the jar of pickles up again. He was still fucking hungry. 

"We may have to require an extra waiver with purchase, but I think we can work with that. Okay, everyone back to bed. Good work, Nathan. This may be the most lucrative merchandising idea you've ever come up with." 

 

*

 

"Gentlemen, it seems that Dethklok has entered into the sex toy industry." Senator Stampington grimaced. 

"Do we know what effect this will have on the global economy?" General Crosier asked, concerned.

"Well, that's what we've been called together to dicuss. This is our resident celebrity sex toy expert, Dr. Bernstein Salkodafoj."

"Dethklok's entry into this particular market could have a truly devastating effect on the entire global population. With Dethklok's likenesses available to them during sexual congress, fans will no longer feel the need to reproduce. This will lead to a worldwide downturn in birthrates. As the birthrates decline and heterosexual men become increasingly frustrated and violent, the homicide rates are likely to quadruple in every country. This, of course, is very likely to wipe out the entirety of mankind."

"Dear god. We can't let this happen. What do we do about this?" Crosier looked to Selatcia expectantly.

"What we normally do when such a situation arises. We....wait."

 

*

 

Skwisgaar clutched his bandaged fist to his chest. 

"I tolds yous this was a terribly ideas, but dids you listens? No! And now my guitar-fingers ams damanged." He glared at his bandmates from the far end of the table, cradling his hand protectively.

"Dewd, yer allergies are weirdly sneaky. Shouldn't someone have a list of thing things yew're allergic to? Like some kinda health professional?"

"You'd thinks so, but no. These doctors ams useless! I can'ts evens enjoys a hand-soak in harmless plasters without theses incidents!" He gazed at his right hand mournfully. "Hows can I plays my solo in tomorrow's flossing awarenesses concerts?" 

"My hands is fine! I'll plays it for you!" 

" _No._ My freaksish and swollens hands is still being better than yous regular ones." 

Toki, not one to let a lesson sink in after hundreds of repetitions, looked devastated.

"You ams never letting me dos what I'm capsable of!" 

"This is all very important, boys, but do you mind if we get this meeting started? Now, I've brought some sketches of possible packaging for the dethfist prototypes and I'd like you all to give me your thoughts--"

"Oh, are yew still on about those things? Wow, Ahfdensen, that's some intense focus on the job there." Pickles coughed indiscreetly. "Maybe a little _too_ intense, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I amns't thought about theses fists in ages!"

Charles folded his hands on the table before him. 

"You literally just finished a conversation about an allergic reaction to the materials used to produce the fists, so clearly you've had some thoughts about them."

"Oh, was that whats thats was for?" Skwisgaar gestured at his bandaged hand again. "Well, thanks for _ruinsing mine hands_." 

"Listen, if you aren't interested in deciding between packaging prototypes for the merchandise, I can always take this elsewhere."

"Soundsch an awful lot like you wanna get a look at our _packages_." 

"Okay, for the record, I tried. You clearly have no recollection of the conversation we had about t-shirt designs less than ten minutes ago. I should have known better than to discuss anything related to sexual matters with any of you. I'll talk to you later about the setlist. This meeting is adjourned." Charles pushed up from his chair and exited the room with as much dignity as was possible.

"Wow, guys. I think he was really mad." Nathan widened his eyes at them emphatically. He really didn't get why Charles would be so annoyed. They were assholes all the time and it almost _never_ bothered him. Or, like, it bothered him enough that he gave Murderface a shitty look or spoke in more clipped sentences for a while, but it never _bothered_ bothered him. "Like, actually mad. Wow, I've only seen him mad like twice ever."

"It only provesch what I was saying; he's waaaay too interested in thisch project for my comfort, if you catch my drift."

"Do you think one of us should, uh...go after him? We didn't even finish our meeting. I wonder what's making him act like such a dildo." 

Skwisgaar tipped back in his chair, fingers still flying over his guitar, bandages and all.

"Seriouslys, it ams like he's never had a profekssional meetings before." 

 

*

 

"Today in Dethklok news, the group's recent venture into the adult toy industry has proven to be a successful one! Several members' models sold out within minutes of the venue of this weekend's concert's opening. We have some footage of the rush now!"

Scenes of carnage played out on the screen as men and women warred over the dethfists. Nathan couldn't help the warm glow of satisfaction it gave him; they hadn't had a merchandise rush like this since the t-shirts from their Bleeding Anal Fissures tour. A group of men who had successfully acquired Nathan's own model were being interviewed on the screen. _That_ gave Nathan a moment of pause. 

"Dudes....buy them for their girlfriends? That's kinda fucked up."

"I, uh. Don't think they're buyin' em for their girlfriends, Nat'an." Pickles waggled his eyebrows at Nathan suggestively, which wasn't something he could really pull off, but it got the message across. 

"Then why would they...." Nathan's eyes widened. "Oh!" 

"Yep."

"Ohhhh! So, okay...they're for....uhhhhhhh, themselves?" 

"That ams the ideas behind the whole conskepts." 

"...huh. Those are some pretty fuckin brutal gay dudes."

The host came back onscreen. "We're now receiving reports that approximately 50,000 Nathan Explosion fans and 25, 300 Pickles fans have checked into hospitals around the world with dethfist-related injuries. We've also gotten one lone report of a Murderface fan who--oh, my--is in critical condition after issues with her Dethfist. Wow, it's a crazy world we live in." He chuckled to himself. "This is great news for Murderface, since it means that he's finally sold at least one of his fists!" 

"I TOLD YOU PEOPLE WOULD BUY MY DETHFISCHT, YOU ASSCHOLES!" 

"In related news, Dethklok lead guitarist Skwisgaar Skwigelf had this to say about his group's latest marketing venture!" 

"It ams literscally dildos." 

Nathan glared at Skwisgaar, who was right next to him on the couch, watching the report with an air of indifference. Nathan almost never got to have awesome ideas about stuff that wasn't directly related to their music and it really kinda pissed him off that Skwisgaar was being a dick about it. 

"YOU'RE literally dildos."

"Yous don't even knows the meanings of literscally, Nathan."

"Will Skwigelf's comments drive a wedge between the members of Dethklok?" Nathan stamped on a pedal and the television shut off.

"Skwisgaar, I'm telling Charles that you're ruining the, uh, lucriosity of my idea and trying to _hurt my feelings_." 

 

*

 

"So, does anyone care to explain why we're meeting right now? I was moments away from settling a publicity deal with Tokyo Disneyland." 

"What, are we gonna go to Disneyland? And meet MIckey Mouse? I fucking _love_ Disneyland I LOVE IT." 

"Does that mean Nat'an lost us a Disneyland trip? Great jahb, Nat'an." Pickles was somewhere in between a hangover from the day before and the effects of today's drinks. He was always sensitive and irritable in that between-time, and the meeting wasn't helping. He'd pressed his face to the cool surface of the table as soon as they'd sat down, and had been drifting in and out of sleep ever since. 

 

"The deal would only extend to a commercial shoot, and it's unlikely that it would be shot on location." He'd actually squared away the deal and had been wrapping up when he had received Nathan's message, but the boys didn't need to know that just yet. He couldn't tell if Pickles had heard the answer to his question or not; he appeared to have drifted back to sleep. "An explanation of why you boys called a meeting would be nice, by the way." 

"It's ams just some _craps_ that no ones elses cares about." Getting Skwisgaar to attend the impromptu meeting hadn't actually been difficult; it gave him an excuse to sit around and be a dick when he was supposed to be writing the guitar part for their new Duncan Hills commercial. He'd been having a sudden diva fit and claiming that composing anything for commercials was beneaths him. 

"Skwisgaar was on tv making fun of my idea! You should tell him he's being a dick, he won't listen to _me_!"

Charles rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Is that it? Okay, then. Skwisgaar, don't make fun of your bandmates on television. It loses us a fair bit of money every time it happens. Nathan, try not to call meetings unless you have real business to conduct. Also, to pre-empt the argument I can already see in the near future, please try not to exclude Murderface and Toki when you call meetings." He stood to leave. "Now, if there's nothing else..."

"HEY!" 

"What is it, then?"

"Uhhhhhhhhh, are you still mad at us? Because everyone was just palling around and being dicks, they didn't mean it!" 

"Hmm? I'm not mad at any of you boys. I'm just very, very busy with preparations for the upcoming tour." He stood to take his leave. "If you'll excuse me, I, ah, need to see a man about a snake. " 

Nathan had requested a glass vat of poisonous snakes be hung over the audience for Bitten in the Dick during their next tour, and he was about to excitedly ask if Charles knew how many and what kind of snakes they'd have when he realized that he'd already been gone for a good minute.

Damn. 

 

*

 

"Now, Nathan, I'm going to give you the gas. Try to relax." Charles bent over him, not looking even a bit out of place in his dentist whites with a gas mask at the ready in his left hand. 

"How about we skip the gas and, uh, go straight to you sucking my cock."

"Well, if that's really how you want this to play out." He tossed aside the mask and reached for Nathan's zipper. 

 

*

 

Nathan jerked awake abruptly, and the dream came back to him almost instantly.

" _NOOOOOOOO_."

He let a moment pass as his shout echoed across the stone walls, and sat up to glare down at his blanket-covered lap.

"That was the gayest thing you've ever done to me." 

 

*

 

When Nathan slammed open the door to Twinkletits' office, he was almost surprised to find him sitting behind his desk. 

"Wow, you're up really early." 

"What? You silly idiot, it's three in the afternoon, no one's early. Come have a seat, Nathan, tell me what's on your mind."

"I, uh, need to...I NEED TO HAVE A ROCK TALK. About... _you-know-what_ dreams." Nathan collapsed into the chair in front of Twinkletits' desk. "Wow, I feel way better now. Big load off my shoulders already."

"Sex dreams are perfectly normal and healthy, everyone has them! It's part of being a human!" 

"EVERYONE DOESN'T HAVE THIS KIND." 

"Nathan, what you and William need to learn--"

"Okay, don't. Just stop that sentence now, and god. Never, EVER let me find out how it ends." He gave Twinkletits his best menacing look. "Or I'll, I dunno, punch you in the balls until they come out your nose. And you can like. Roll them around on your business dildo desk when you're bored. Or feed them to the yard wolves. OH, SONG IDEA." He pulled his tape recorder out of the front pocket of his jeans. "Guy says too much, gets his balls punched out of his nose. And that happens forever." 

Twinkletits sighed. "Focus, you gigantic moron! You were going to talk to me about your filthy sex dream and I was going to tell you about what it all really means, remember?" 

"Fuck that, I'm not telling you shit. For all I know you're some kind of, you know, sex pervert. I don't want you jerking off to my dream, that's gross." 

"How are we supposed to figure out what your dream means if you're not willing to discuss it?" 

"Just tell me what it means...when you have a you-know-what dream about..." Nathan trailed off into an indiscernible mumble.

"Wanna repeat that a little louder so I can help you?"

"FUCK YOU, you shoulda been listening!" Nathan's eyes were wide and alarmed-looking. 

"Well, from your reaction I'm just going to assume you had a sex dream about someone you perceive as inappropriate."

"Uh, yeah, sure. That's pretty true."

"Let me share a little secret with you...sex dreams _aren't always about sex_." He leaned back into his chair, looking pleased with himself for no reason Nathan could think of.

"THAT DOESN'T MAKE ANY SENSE."

"Oh, sure, sometimes they're about sex. There's always the possibility you want to fuck this person's brains out. But," Nathan couldn't help leaning in to listen more closely, "another common reason for sex dreams is admiration of a quality that that person represents for you. They can also represent a quality you want to bring out in yourself!" 

"So, like...those dreams mean I wanna be like that person? And not that I wanna actually fuck them?"

"Like I said, both are possi--"

"I mean...I guess he's a respectable sort of guy, so it makes sense." Nathan muttered to himself, already heading toward the door. It really did make sense. The Dethfists idea must have made him think about being more businessy without knowing he was thinking about it. Twinkletits was right, it had nothing to do with sex at all. 

"Nathan, where are you going? Come back here and deal with your psychological scarring!"

"Nah, that sounds stupid and gay. I'm gonna go do boring business shit instead!"

 

*

 

"Uh, hey, Charles? You busy right now? I gotta talk to you about some stuff." Nathan lurked in the doorway to Charles's office, clearly holding back from simply barging in by some strange momentary decision to manifest manners from who-the-fuck knew where. 

"Come on in, Nathan. Have a seat." Charles's lips quirked up. "I've just put in an order for a preliminary shipment of one hundred thousand of your dethfists. You should feel very pleased with yourself."

"That's kinda what I wanted to talk about. I've been thinkin, if I can come up with awesome shit like dethfists, shouldn't I be able to help out more with this marketing stuff? I feel like I've got lots of really brutal ideas to share." Nathan pulled a list out of his pocket and gave Charles a hopeful look. 

Charles knew he'd better not expect to see through any of the tasks he'd been planning to spend his lunch break completing. He discreetly sent a text under his desk to alert his assistant.

"Let's hear it, then, Nathan." 

Nathan put on his reading glasses, and began. 

 

*

 

"So, like, I think you'll really like this next one. It's fucking brutal and really useful too, so yeah." Nathan was starting to get a desperate look after the rejection of his previous five ideas, and Charles only hoped that something on the list was feasibly marketable. He really wanted a chance to encourage this business-conscious side of Nathan that so rarely emerged. 

"Let me have it, then." 

"So I was thinking about this really hard, _but not too hard_ , and I realized that we don't have nothing on here for our lady fans, you know? Like, something cute but still metal. So I was thinking, you know, women love animals and shit. How can I make that metal? And it came to me--we could sell home neutering kits! Try to tell me that chopping off balls isn't metal, I dare you." Nathan leaned back in the chair, arms folded over his chest in satisfaction which seemed only slightly colored with anxiety. It was pretty obvious he thought this idea was one of his best. Charles pressed his lips together and summoned all the patience he was capable of. 

"Nathan, do you remember what happened last time you boys ventured into the pet-neutering business?"

"What? We never did that." 

"You don't remember? The mass carnage, the cat? We all thought Pickles was dying? Not ringing any bells?"

"Pickles is dying? OH MY GOD, why didn't you tell me that sooner?!"

Charles rubbed a hand roughly over his forehead. "He's not--never mind that. I honestly don't think this idea would be a feasible investment at the moment, Nathan." Nathan's brow was lowered and a truly impressive frown had overtaken his features.

"I just thought, you know, maybe I could. You know, help you with stuff. On, like, the business end of Dethklok. You know." 

Charles' expression softened. The rare occasions Nathan Explosion decided to help someone other than himself were always a sight to behold. There had to be something on that damn list he could sell on their publicity people. He made a mental note to see if any of the ideas could be toned down into something marketable once Nathan left. 

"Listen, uh, Nathan. It sounds an awful lot like you're wanting to help out more with merch in general, and you are of course welcome to come to me with ideas at any time. In the meantime, you could help me out with the meeting about the new poster and hoodie designs that I have in, ah," he consulted his watch, "fiiiive minutes."

 

*

 

"I feel like _this_ particular design really conveys the feel of, um, Face-Slice Death-Blend Latte--"

"Wait a fucking minute, hold on. Is that _whipped cream_?" 

"Well, yes. I thought it was appropriate for the single." 

"Whipped cream is fucking girly and it's stupid and I don't like it." 

"I'm sure we can reach some sort of compromise." Charles furrowed his brow, studying the poster mock-up. 

"Mr. Explosion, if you look closely you'll see the sliced faces are outlined in the foam. It's, you know, a subtle reminder of what's in the latte. Specifically, sliced faces and death."

Nathan considered for a moment.

"Look, guy." Nathan sighed long and loud as he often did when he felt the people around him were being dildos. "I see what you're going for. I do! But SUBTLE SHIT AND WHIPPED CREAM JUST AREN'T BRUTAL." 

"Hmm. Mr. Trewelenkt, could you look into making the foam look a bit less fluffy and get back to me? This is an excellent start." Nathan wondered if Charles spent every day being this nice to fuck-ups who couldn't figure out how to do their jobs. _That'd_ have to suck; it was so much more satisfying to tell people that they're stupid or to go fuck themselves or die or find a deer and make friends with it and then watch it get hit by a truck and rush to check on it and accidentally fall and stab themselves on its horns and then die along with their stupid little deer friend.

The man nodded mutely and made a hasty exit.

"He's, ah, pretty new. Hasn't quite got a handle on the Dethklok aesthetic yet, but he does good work." 

Nathan slumped in his seat, bored and restless. 

"How many of these meetings do you have? There's already been, what, five? Are we done?"  
"Almost. We have one more rep coming in with some ideas for hoodies. She should be here any moment now." 

"You and those fucking hoodies." 

"If this is boring you, you're under no obligation to be here. Feel free to go, I can fill you in on the details later if you'd like." 

Oh, boy. If it was only day one and Charles already wanted to get rid of him, maybe he had a problem. 

"No fucking way! I'm gonna be so businessy and responsible that it'll knock your dick off." 

Charles blinked at him a bit. 

"...ah. I see." There was a knock at the door. "Okay, great. Let's get to it, then."

 

*

He was in a bedroom. It definitely wasn't his bedroom--it was painted in the tasteful colors he imagined most boring dildos did their rooms in, like something out of a fucking Ramada. 

He scowled at the painting of a blonde boy holding a puppy that hung sedately over the tv. It looked like something from his mom's creepy-ass Precious Moments figurine collection. Gross. 

"Ah, Nathan, could you explain why you brought me here?" Charles was seated on the edge of the bed. Nathan was pretty sure he hadn't been there a moment ago.

"I dunno, I guess another you-know-what dream?" Nathan scratched his neck thoughtfully. "I'm pretty okay with...uh, doing you in a dream. If it just means, you know, that I admire you and shit. Twinkletits told me about that."

"Ah, I see. So your intention for us was to, uh, get down and dirty."

" _Never_ say that again. But yes."

"Would it help if I took my clothes off?" 

"I dunno, probably. Makes it easier to do it." Charles was suddenly naked. "Woah, how--?" Nathan became aware that he was also naked. "Wish I could do that all the time." 

"Right, then. Let's get down to business." 

 

*

 

There was nothing worse than waking up in your own jack-off. Nathan reluctantly pushed his blanket aside and shuffled out of bed toward the restroom. This waking up before noon shit had to stop, it _wasn't fucking right_. 

After cleaning himself off in the bathroom, he realized that he was feeling really hungry and decided to see if there were any chips in the kitchen. After their deal with Doritos, it would be really fucking crazy if they didn't have any. He was pulling a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos out of a cupboard when he heard someone clear their throat behind him. 

"Oh, Nathan." Charles looked at him suspiciously. "I don't normally see you up and about this early. I hope that you slept at some point last night?"

"Uh, yeah. I...uh. I had a...dream. It woke me up. That's why I'm awake."

"Dr. Twinkletits did mention that you'd come to see him about some dreams. Is there anything you'd, ah, like to talk about?"

"NO!" 

"Alllright, then." He poured himself a cup of coffee and took a seat at the table. Nathan joined him, and even considered offering him some chips before he decided that he was too hungry for _sharing_ and Charles could get his own if he wanted some.

" I've been a bit short with you boys lately, but I want to know that I think it's great that you're taking an interest in the business end of things. Speaking of, I'll be talking with a contractor about staging for the tour. Your input could be very helpful in regard to the setlist." 

"Ohhhhhhh, uh. Were we supposed to have finished that? Because YOU SHOULD KNOW IT'S ALL SKWISGAAR'S FAULT, but there are. Disagreements. About...things. Song order things." 

 

"I know you boys haven't got it quite finalized yet, but I'm sure we can get started on the construction end."

"I mean, yeah, sure. I have no problem just fucking. You know, ignoring everyone else's opinions and going with my own. Better that way, really."

"Okay, then. I'll see you in my office at 2:30 if you decide to join. Try to give it 110% this afternoon." 

 

*

 

"Maybe Gore Splash Skull Fuck would be a good lead-in to Head Punt Melodic. We could recycle parts of the set, which could potentially save us a whole lot of money, and they are quite thematically similar."

"I don't know how I feel about having two songs in a row about decapitation, you know? Like, maybe it's just too much decapitation at once. Like maybe spread them out a little. YOU KNOW?? I dunno." He considered. "Plus, those are both songs where you can actually kinda hear the fucking bass. Murderface is gonna be a lazy shithead on Head Punt if he has to do work on two whole songs." 

Charles scribbled a note in the margin of the sheet he'd been consulting.

"I, ah, see how that could be a problem."

 

Nathan was pretty cool with Charles paying attention to what he had to say, not like when he ignored Nathan's text messages about if it was possible to get those huge clock-sized spiders from Australia he'd heard about on the internet for a prank on Murderface, but all these dumb fucks kept coming in and giving them sketches and layouts and interrupting _everything_. 

"It's STUPID."

"Mr. Explosion, if you just look at the blueprint--"

"It's a STUPID IDEA and this is MY BAND and I SAY NO." 

"Of course, Mr. Explosion." She nodded and excused herself as quickly as possible, most likely fearing that upsetting a member of Dethklok would result in her death. The contractor, a Ms. Frirkelnstz, was another of the new recruits. Charles had warned him before the meeting had started. 

"Nathan, I have a bit of advice for you for dealing with representatives." Charles had personally thought Frirkelnstz's plans for staging had been excellent, but Nathan's perfectionism struck randomly and without warning, and he was always obstinate that his vision was the only correct one. 

Nathan sat heavily back in the chair in front of Charles' desk that he'd recently started thinking of as his. 

"Okay, hurry up and tell me."

"Our employees are highly skilled and capable of amazing work. If you just dismiss the work that these people do as stupid without giving more input, they can't change things to your liking. Sure, tell them it's stupid and you think they should die and whatever else you feel the need to say, but also tell them _why_ it's stupid." 

"Uhhhh, can I tell them it's stupid 'cause I hate it?" 

"Well, yes, but you might want to be a bit more detailed than that."

"I dunno, I guess I just thought it was fucking obvious that orange belongs NOWHERE ONSTAGE during I Pissed on Your Mother's Grave. Fucking _obviously_. Shit." Nathan grabbed the miniature crystal globe off the corner of Charles' desk (a gift from the president) and tossed it from hand to hand absent-mindedly. As he began to toss it higher and higher, Charles could see a few moments into the future when Nathan decided that juggling was pretty cool clearly enough that he reached out and deftly caught the globe in mid-air. He set it back on the corner of his desk without a word.

"I'll tell her exactly what you said during the staff meeting this afternoon. Unless you'd, ah, like to tell her yourself?"

"No way, staff meetings are for boring assholes. No offense." 

"None taken." He checked his watch for the ten billionth time that day. "You do, however, have a band meeting now. Right now. So let's get going, uh, now." 

 

*

 

"And now they're arriving to meetings together. What did I tell you, Toki? Schuspicious." Uncharacteristically, Murderface and Toki were the first arrivals at the meeting--in fact, it looked as though they'd been settled in for some time from the state of the table. There were beer bottles and chip bags lining most of the table and crumbs stamped into the carpet. Charles made a mental note to call for a carpet cleaner after the meeting. 

"Uhhhhh....what?"

"I'm just schayin', there's definitely something weird about you and [Ofdensen] arriving together. 

"Murderface ams gossiping about your business meetings, he doesn't believes you ams becoming more responsible." Toki gave Nathan and Charles his best distressed look, and Murderface reclined further into his chair, looking smug.

"Ayeeeep. I bet you sons-of-bitches never realized old Murderface was on your trail, huh. Just goes to show you--I've always been unnaturally perscheptive about these things."

Charles ignored him entirely and began unpacking files from his briefcase. 

"So, ah, Toki. I have a possible advertising deal locked up for you if you'd like to look over this contract." He pushed one of the files toward Toki as Skwisgaar sat down at the table, guitar across his lap. 

"I hopes you knows, my hands am still not worksing properly thank you to _someone's_ dildos ideas." Even as he spoke, his fingers flew over the strings of his guitar. Charles eyed them significantly. 

"Well, you seem to be recovering nicely, so let's not dwell on it too much. Toki, if you'd take a look at that deal..."

"Ooh, it's a real cool guitars deal! And they haves the cats one and the-- _ams these children's guitars_?" 

"Then should I assume you won't be taking the deal?"

"Fucks no! Childrens can drink poisons and go die!"

Skwisgaar pointed a finger in Toki's direction.

"It ams because you haves the childrens-size hands, I always tells you that." 

Pickles chose that moment to meander in, and Charles used it as his cue to break up what looked to be a fairly epic fit on Toki's part. 

"Okay, ah, now that everyone's here let's get this meeting underway. Face-Slice Death-Blend Latte has topped charts for the fourth consecutive week, so you boys--"

"Who cares?", Murderface interjected, "I wanna know what those two were up to before this meeting!"

Silence.

"I was jus sendin' the groupies home, dewd, no need to be a douchebag." Pickles held up his hands. "I was only like ten minutes late, anyway."

"Yeah, and I ams still recovers from my hands injuries, so--"

"No, _those_ two." Murderface gestured over to Nathan and Charles. Charles was watching the interruption without really bothering to contribute or intervene, as he sometimes did when he was tired of their bullshit.

Nathan, however, was intently studying the set blueprint for Fuck You Soup. His glasses had manifested at some point from wherever it was he kept them when he didn't need them. He glanced up through them to see everyone looking at him expectantly. 

"Oh, uh. You're still talking. Uh, fuck off, then. That's the answer to whatever bullshit you asked me. Suck my dick." He went back to studying the blueprint for a moment, then turned his attention to Charles. "This one sucks less, I guess. Tell what's-her-name not to kill herself for now." 

Charles gave him a small smile. 

"Okay, ah, as I was saying before. Face-Slice Death-Blend Latte has topped charts for the fourth consecutive week, so good job, boys. Keep up the great work, and the upcoming tour promises be the most killer ever."

"Oh, Ahfdensen, you were doin' so _well_ until the end."

"Why can'ts you ever lets us be happy and not add that annoying craps at the end?"

"Seriously, no one says killer. Besides, like, stupid jackoff surfer dudes." 

Charles sighed. 

"Of course. Unless anyone else has business, we can call this finished. Toki, Nathan, please stay behind. The rest of you are free to go."

Nathan decided he could probably fit in a nap while Charles tried to convince Toki he really wanted to do the Little Gibson Friends ad campaign. As he was trying to find a comfortable position and thinking about just saying fuck it and passing the fuck out on the floor, Murderface slid into the seat next to his. 

"I want you to know I've talked to Twinkletits about, uh, _schpecial dreams_ , and I'm here for you if you need to talk about anything. Doesn't matter how disguschting or fucked up, I won't judge you. "

"Okay, one, you have fucking disgusting garlic breath."

"Why does everyone always schay that? Look, I'm chewing gum." Murderface leaned into Nathan's space and opened his mouth wide. "You're juscht jealous of my deal with Uncle Brian's Totally Aweschome Garlic Pork Rinds." He blew a breath into Nathan's face that, okay, did smell like both garlic pork rinds and gum.

"Don't _do_ that, it makes me wanna throw up. Anyway, uh. What's that thing doctors have? That says they can't talk about patients' business?"

"Confidentiality agreement?"

"Yeah, yeah, confident reality agreement. I'm gonna have to remind Twinkletits that's a thing by _kicking his ass_." 

"C'mon, I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

"NO. Just _no_. To both of those. Just let me forget we ever talked about this."

"Your words can hurt, Nathan." 

The conversation came to an abrupt ending when Toki flung a chair at the wall above their heads.

"I DON'TS WANNA TALKS ABOUT IT NO MORE." 

"So, ah, is that a yes?" Charles straightened his tie, which Toki had attempted (and failed) to wrap around his neck before he decided to throw furniture instead. He'd need to replace it before his dinner meeting. 

"...YES, DAMNSIT. NOW LETS ME BE." Toki stormed out of the room without another word, knocking over three more chairs and shattering two floor lamps on his way. Nathan hadn't even realized that there were any lamps _in_ the conference room until they were just bits of glass all over the carpet. 

Charles shuffled some papers into his suitcase, and pulled out a different file. 

"Oh, Murderface, I see you've stuck around with Nathan. Are you hoping to, ah, pal around and help with the staging for the tour?"

"It upschets me deeply that you'd even ask me that, Ofdensen. _Never_ expect me to do work. Never." Murderface shook his head disapprovingly a bit and quickly made for the door as though he were afraid that sticking around too much longer would end with him doing something productive. 

Charles took the seat Murderface had vacated and placed the remaining file onto the table between himself and Nathan. 

"I just got a memo about the new poster designs if you'd like to look it over."

"Yeeeeeah, about that. I don't. It's boring and stupid."

"Oh." Charles' face creased in surprise and then something that looked a lot like disappointment to Nathan. Which was pretty weird; he hadn't even liked any of Nathan's ideas. "I, ah, was under the impression that you were interested in helping out with merch."

"Working on sets and stuff is pretty fucking cool, but. I mean, if you think about it, who buys posters and shirts?" Nathan paused for emphasis. "Our dumbfuck fans, that's who."

"I suppose I can't really argue with that." Charles' hand twitched on the table, apparently unsure whether to put the file away immediately or let Nathan finish first.

"So, uh. You can decide that stuff, I guess. I'll just help making sure that our concerts are brutal and fucking awesome and don't suck." Nathan rubbed the back of his neck. "I mean, Twinkletits said I wanna be like you, but I guess I really just wanna fuUHHHHAHHHHHUHHHHHHHH," Nathan's brain furiously backpedaled as he searched for a different way to end that sentence. Charles glanced up from his internal debate over the file, uncharacteristically startled. "...fuck you. Fuck." 

"Ah." 

Oh, shit. Nathan did want to fuck Charles, and not, like, psychologically or anything. Physically. With his own dick. Worst of all, Charles knew this at the same moment Nathan did and now he was just looking at Nathan like Nathan had asked for sock money again. 

"Yeah, fuckin' ah." Nathan pressed his hands to his temples. "This is the _GAYEST THING_ I--" 

"So, ah, should I assume these conversations with Dr. Twinkletits are connected to the dreams you've been having?"

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

"Nathan, did these dreams have anything to do with," he cleared his throat,"the dethfists? I've noticed you've been a bit, ah, _preoccupied_ with them and--"

"What?? No!"

"--anything that advanced would have to be a long-term project."

"Wait, long-term--. Wait, so like...you'd wanna?" 

"As I said, it would be a long-term project. Possibly over the span of a few months if we plan out our progress at a decent clip."

"Hold on, though. If you wanna do...that...then, uh. Does that mean you're okay with other stuff too?"

Nathan's brain stopped dead in its tracks.

"Depending on what you have in mind, okay would be one way of putting it." 

"Oh, well, uh. GOOD." Nathan fisted Charles' much-abused tie in his hand and yanked him closer. The angle proved to not be a great one for yanking, and it ended with Charles' chair on the floor and Charles himself attempting to retain his balance. "Uh, whoops."

With the chair out of the way, it was easy to pull Charles back over and down into a kiss. It went on for a bit before Charles took hold of the hand gripping his tie and eased Nathan's fingers loose. Nathan realized distantly that he must have been having trouble breathing, which was probably why the kissing had stopped.

"So that was pretty okay." 

"Yes, ah, it was," he paused, searching for the appropriate words, "quite satisfactory." 

"Soooooo, is your room nearby? There might still be, uh, a couple supermodels in mine."

 

*  
Nathan woke to movement in the bed next to him. What had woken him turned out to be Charles carefully easing his lower body from under Nathan's left leg

"...huh. Morning...you." 

"Ah, good morning, Nathan. I trust you slept well?" Charles managed to extract his body from under Nathan's and adjust himself so that he had proper access to the pillows.

"Yeah, uh, it's weird. I'm usually a lot more hungover than this."

"Now that we've, ah. Gotten down and dirty, I think we should discuss our--" Nathan groaned.

"I told you go never say that again!"

"I don't think I've ever said that to you before...?" Charles reached a hand down to the floor and came up with his glasses a moment later.

"What'd I tell you? After that 'take me' shit last night?"

"I believe you, ah, started to say something about my 'fucking one-liners'," he smiled, small and affectionate, "but you never really finished that train of thought."

Nathan realized he'd only ever heard Charles say 'fuck' when he was quoting them or their songs, until last night when he'd yelled it about twenty times.

Which was pretty cool.

"I, uh. I guess that's true." It would have been messed up, really, to be too much of an asshole to the guy you were about to fuck. Nathan rolled onto his back and debated for a moment whether it would be too gay to go in for a cuddle, but then he decided that it was fine as long as you didn't actually call it a cuddle out loud. Plus, he figured Charles probably wouldn't be telling the guys about it, anyway. 

Nathan curled his body around Charles' side and tried to toss an arm around his middle as masculinely and carelessly as possible. Charles didn't seem to find the idea too gross, since his only response was to move a bit closer. 

"As I was saying before you chose to critique my _choice of wording_. We'll need to get to work on the more, ah, _advanced_ plans pretty soon if we're planning to do any actual fisting any time in the forseeable future." Nathan could only stare at him blankly for a moment, because _what_ , Charles had used the word fisting like it was something he said every fucking day of the week, like 'quarterly earnings' or 'irresponsible'.

Then the full realization of _why_ he'd used the word hit him forcefully for the second time in the last twenty-four hours. 

" _AWE_ SOOOOOOOME."


End file.
